my love is like a glowing rose
that grows in an ebony chamber
forever there to stay alive
forever to remember

forever to remember there
how strong once burned a fire
it fied the sun and blinded day
so high it dared aspire

some day a storm again
will blow through open doors
   will stir the slumbering ember
and raise a flaming rose of love
that burns the ebony chamber

Thou art air...


I,  a corpse.

The thunder boomed
and the rain poured.
The darkness loomed
the end of life's loving cord.

The old man walked alone
shivering cold far from home.
His feet like millstones
every moment an aching throb.
Every memory
like piercing shards,
every breath
choking and toiled.

His life spent
his youth wasted.
A life lived unfulfilled
a dream forgotten
and long decayed

The love he had
and the ones he held
now far gone.
The chances and opportunities
that came his way,
the mistakes and turns
that led him
to this wretched day.

What hope is there for him now?
This old Man of sorrow
what future lies ahead of his gray misery?
This wretched relic
of a long lost hope.

What will become of this man?
what does fate have in store.
Will he die slowly,
wretchedly alone?
Or will heaven
in it's tender mercies
take him quickly,
and take him swiftly?

Will God in heaven
forgive him for his wrongs?
Or will he suffer in agony
deep in eternity.

Will he ever repent?
Forsake his selfish ambitions
and return to the light?
Or will he sink even further into the pit?
For how can a man
with no strength nor love
With no hope nor anchor
survive the tempest?

How can he prevail
through the darkness?
When his light has been
snuffed out and his hope,
all but gone.
Like a ship with no rudder
his life flickered in between the pale.
Destruction has been his destination,
from the beginning
ruin his eternal hail.
He squandered and toyed
with the priceless gifts
he had been given.

The number of opportunity's
he had missed,
out weighed by far
the ones he made.

The love of others slowly
became cold towards him,
and slowly he began to fade.
Little by little
this old man of many sorrows sunk.
Deeper and deeper into despair.
He became dead inside
a dead man walking.

A walking man without life
his heart became hardened
and his dreams faded to gray.
His vision became blurred
and now here he is on this fateful day.






And now here he is
at the end of all things,
at the finish line of his life.
He is to be found alone and miserable.
His years of neglect
have at last caught up to him,
His tempered words
Fueled by the bottom of the bottomless bottle.

His foolish actions
and careless tongue,
some words had cut to deep
some hurts never again to heal.

Deep in thought
shivering cold.
Wasted by ruin and rot
life begins to release it's hold.
The cold deepens, his heart slows.

The darkness thickness
the reaper's eyes begin to glow.
The old man takes his last breath
of ragged air.
Which for so long
he had taken for granted.
Which for so long
he scorned upon and spat.

His time has now come
his days are at an end,
his life failing fast
his pitifully few memories now useless.

For what good are memories?
when they only remind you
of the chances you could of taken.
The hearts you could of known
the love you could have shared.
Now in the midst of the storm
in the hour of his blackest darkness
The rains came and the clouds covered the stars.

The light faded
like a burn out flame
it slowly whisked away.
And the thick blanket
of fear and uncertainty hovered close.

There upon his day of death
he laid his wretched head
upon the cold hard pillow.
And sank deep into darkness
and sank he did deep into everlasting despair
And that is how the story goes
The story of an old man  filled with deep regret
painful memory's and eternal burning sorrows

The old Man, who lived a life for himself.
The old Man who lived alone,
and who died alone.
Thus ends the tale of the lonely Man of Sorrows.

His moonlight skin
My guide in the dark
Eyes a galaxy
But I'm searching for his heart

He plucked the sun from the sky
Swapped it for my soul
Though you can't have both day and night

We compliment each other
*But can never complete each other

Alone stands an empty wine glass
dreaming the rich  grape harvests of the past.
As it gets filled with the wine of memory
to the brim, he stealthily starts to drink
from the very first moment lost, with
a fervency, only a thirsty one trapped
in the maze of past alone will display

Two-daughters succession go astride
One hunched in apathy
The other in defeat
I could have seen beauty in progeny
Before it was
Crushed
By artificial gravity
Smelling of blood-stained pittances
And a taker’s philosophy,
Their lunch-box notions
And plastic dreams
Rattled the bars on a shopping cart.
Do they, I wonder,
Feel their ease at pain? Or luxury, woe?
Though their smiling faces
Were promised, now reach
To Paradise,
I can seem them
Crushed
Beneath them, too:
Updated, upgraded, brand-spanking new
All they ever hoped to be,
Customized
Head-to-*******-toe.

You are the 'North America' nebula
                       in all your splendor and colors
I am the remains of a supernova,
                        even NASA has long discarded,
exploded spectacularly-ancient Chinese recorded-
                         yet still alive, for you to admire!
wearily I view the star forming clouds
                         chomping through the cosmos,
enchanting still, I guess, I am, for a swirling landscape of stars
                         like you to profess your love;
I am overwhelmed, but this absurd drama
                         will eventually plunge us in to dark holes.
My darling, the cosmic dance has no rules;
                        pain in murky regions of star formation,
iridescent display of dead stars seeming to remain ever,
                        love, loss, collision, birth or rebirth
no apparent reason for anything, being and nothingness
           too are kaleidoscopic, just creations of auto suggestion.